This week’s dVerse Poetics is asking us to write about shoes.
I am a bit of a shoe-fetishist. Unfortunately, I don’t have those delicate, lady-like feet that suit any kind of shoe. Nor do I possess calves that will just disappear into this season’s knee high winter boots with ease. Much like my little-girl desire to be a prima ballerina (before I saw the light and realised that writing was the only way!), my dreams do not match the reality of muscly legs, and ankles that tend to puff up a little as soon as I get out of bed in the morning.
So, here’s my take on footwear. And dreams. Enjoy!
Please visit dVerse to read the other thoughts of my fellow poets!
– Buccaneer –
In my dreams I stride across continents, buckling swash with a smile and a wink for the ladies (and gents) who I save from destruction, and fates that paper and pen cannot bear. I take a moment to polish my boots, inhaling the leather encasing my calves like a second skin. They are battle-scarred, and the laces that bind me from ankle to knee are soiled with years of pounding the lands. They may be scuffed and worn bare, but when I ease them over my stockinged feet, one by one, slowly, achingly, sensuously, I adorn myself with bravery, confidence, and a suit of armour that no metal may match. They are my badge of honour. They are me.
The Līgo Haibun Challenge is hosted by Ye Pirate and Ese.
This week we are invited to be innovative. Instead of completing our prose with a haiku, we can choose an alternative style of oh-so-brief poetry. I have selected the Cambodian pathya vat style – four lines of poetry where the second and third lines must rhyme.
This week is also prompt week, and i have chosen the Mexican proverb ‘It is not enough to know how to ride – you must also know how to fall’ as my inspiration.
Please do go and check out the other entries by visiting the co-hosts’ blogs and finding the InLinkz linky thing! There are some very talented writers out there…
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– One Wild Song –
The weather yesterday was what I told myself to be the winter version of the day of my dad’s funeral – blue skies, here and there the odd wisp of teased, cotton wool clouds, everywhere crisp and bright.
It was a fitting day for us all to gather for his memorial service. A man who loved colour in his clothing as well as in his art, he would have delighted in such a day to celebrate his life, his achievements, his work.
Throughout the service – a mixture of classical music, hymns, choral works, poetry and other readings – I kept on thinking that I wouldn’t have been surprised if the man himself had arrived, charging down the aisle in a puff of cigar smoke, rainbow-hued tie flailing. It was all so ‘him’. The stunning surroundings, the atmosphere, the sheer grandeur of it all, yet wrapped in an intimacy so tangible it could almost be touched and held close.
So many amazing sentiments were expressed. They were touching, even humorous at times, topped off by a huge round of applause fit to lift St Paul’s Cathedral from its foundations and expose the OBE Chapel to the world outside.
It could have been no better.
clapping of hands stings in echoes for life that flows – sorrow no more
Freya Writes... 